Can I keep you?
by etaknosnhoj
Summary: Just a little ficlet: Late Victorian London. Three vampires trash a house and one of them takes a little something home for himself...


            The streets had long ago turned to ice and the wind whistled through narrow gaps between precarious buildings.  London was no place to be at the height of winter, dark and bitter, prowling with the undead and the nearly dead, a frozen corpse bobbing down the Thames on most days.

            But for the three striding down the street the weather didn't matter.  What was cold when your blood was still?  What was ice when your skin didn't freeze?

            Angelus smashed the door open.  "Mmm," he said, "fresh meat."

            Beside him, his darling insane little moll Drusilla licked her lips.  "Mummy's hungry," she whined.

            "Lots of blood for Mummy," said the other vampire, shaking his head to release his inner demon.  "Let's go find a-"

            But she was already gone with Angelus, because upstairs people were awaking and the scent of fresh, warm, sleepy blood was intoxicating.  Angelus tossed down a body to Spike, who caught it and bit in.  Mmm, fresh and young.  Very tasty.

            But not as tasty as his Dru.  What was with her tonight?  Why did she always want Angelus?  All he had to do was crook his finger and she rushed into his arms, nuzzling and biting and snogging.  Right in front of him.  It was hardly fair.

            The bloodbath just wasn't as fun as usual.  While Drusilla and her sire ran around gleefully sucking from every body they found - young, old, male, female, even the dog - Spike leaned back and pouted.  What fun was all this without his princess?

            "Daddy's gonna get me, Daddy's gonna get me!" Drusilla shrieked, rushing past him, her dress flowing with blood.  Angelus caught her around the waist and bit down on her lip.  Drusilla moaned happily.

            "What's up with my little Spike?" she pouted at him, her chin flowing with blood - her own, her victim's - did it matter?

            "You having your fun there?"

            "You bet," Angelus said, licking the blood from Drusilla's breast.  "Lots of young, fresh blood out here for us... Or was, anyway," he grinned, and Drusilla bit at his cheek.  "Go and get yourself some, William.  I think there might still be one alive somewhere... Go and get yourself a little playmate."

            They edged out into the frigid garden, shrieking and moaning, and Spike muttered, "I sodding had one, mate.  The one you're fucking now."

            He brought out a cigarette and sniffed it - then he held it away and sniffed the air.  Angelus was right.  There was a fresh one out there.

            He prowled around the room, the wrecked furniture, the bloody smears on the walls, stepped over the body of a woman and opened a cupboard in the corner.  And there he found her.

            She was small, shivering in a thin white nightgown, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes tightly shut.

            "Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

            Spike extended a hand and pulled her to her feet.

            "Open your eyes."

            She did, cringing away from him.  Hmm.  She wasn't bad.  Playmate, huh?

            But not here.  Here it was too dark, too desolate.  He could hear Angelus and Drusilla fucking their way to a blood-fuelled climax outside and his lip curled in disgust.

            "Come on," he said, and pulled the girl after him through the house, out into the dark, frozen street.

            "But I don't have any shoes," she began, and he gave her a mocking glare.

            "Do I look like I care?"

            She stumbled after him on frozen feet over icy puddles and drifts of blackened, slushy snow.  Within seconds she was too cold to feel anything at all, her body shivering violently, shaking against him as she stumbled and fell.

            "Oh, for God's sake," he propped her up against a wall and she slid down to the ground.  "If you're going to be this weak I might as well leave you here."

            But then she looked up at him with those big green eyes, tousled hair covering her nearly bare shoulders, and he sighed and took off his coat.

            "Here," he wrapped it around her and picked her up.  His body was cold against hers, not just chilled by the cold air, but cold all the way through.  She'd seen what they did to her family.  She knew what he was.

            So why wasn't she more afraid?

            She must have passed out or at least into a stupor, because she was hardly aware of how far they travelled before he kicked open a low door and carried her into what looked like a crypt - but not just any crypt.  The ceilings were high and vaulted, the walls lined with books and tapestries, and heat from hundreds of candles filled the large stone space.

            "Oh my," she said, sliding from his arms onto her own throbbing feet.  "What is this place?"

            "It's not much," Spike said, "but I call it home."

            "It's incredible!"

            "Yeah," he looked around, "it is pretty neat."

            She went over to one of the shelves.  "These are all first editions..."

            "Most of 'em.  You read?"

            She nodded.  "I love to read."

            In a sunken bay was a trove of travel books and maps.  A route had been plotted across France.  "I've been there!" she cried, pointing to a spot on the map.

            "_Vallée d'Escargot_," he read.  "The Valley of Snails?"

            "They cook them.  It's a delicacy."  She looked up at him, eyes shining.  "Have you ever tried it?"

            "No, love.  Never been there.  Besides," he ran a finger down the back of her neck, "I like my meat," his body was pressed against hers, "redder."

            She swallowed nervously as he turned her in his arms.  For an evil undead creature, he was pretty damn spectacular.  Those eyes.  Those cheekbones.

            "You got a name?" he asked, but before she could answer the door burst open again and Drusilla and Angelus staggered in, obviously still high from all the blood.  He slammed her back against the door, pulled up her skirt, and fucked her vigorously.

            "Charming," Spike said, moving away from his little blonde.  "You, er, wanna go get cleaned up?"

            She looked up at him.

            "Clean clothes," he said.  "I can see right through that," he plucked at a soaked section of her nightgown.  Not that he was complaining, but she was still shivering hard.  He didn't want her to get frostbite before he was done playing with her.

            He led her to a stone staircase in the corner.  It went up to a room that looked like it might have been a vestry of some kind.  There was a stone sink, and he ran some water in it.  Steam rose up.

            "Well well," came a voice from the doorway.  "And what did you bring home?"

            She hardly dared look around.  The speaker was a woman, leaning in the doorway, wearing an exquisite evening gown trimmed with ermine.  She was small and blonde and very pretty.

            "Found myself a playmate," Spike said, running his hand over the girl's neck.

            "Jealous of Angelus and Dru?"

            "No," he said, but his fingers tightened and she sucked in a breath.

            The other woman laughed.  "She's a pathetic little thing," she said.  "Colourless."

            "And you're so vibrant, Darla."

            "Well," she smoothed her skirts, "I try."

            "Go on, fuck off.  I'm busy."

            "I just thought you might want to know, they're fucking in your den.  Might mess up your maps."

            Spike rolled his eyes.  "Fine.  All right."  He pointed at his girl.  "Mine," he said to Darla.  "No touching."

            "She's not my type," Darla said.

            He left the room, and Darla watched the skinny little creature dip her hands into the warm water and close her eyes.

            "Where did he find you?"

            She looked up.  "My house."

            "Bloodbath?"

            She nodded.

            "Family slaughtered, thought you were ripe enough to bring home... He'll kill you, you know."

            She nodded.  "I know."

            "Oh, do you?  I don't think you do.  First he'll rape you till you bleed, then he'll get his knives and his nails and his thumbscrews out and do it again.  I've seen him.  Quite fun to watch, actually."

            "I know what you are," the girl whispered, her eyes on the water she was washing herself with.

            "Do you?"

            "Vampires."

            "That's right."  Darla moved closer.  "Tortured creatures of the night.  Pleasure seekers.  Angelus took his favourite toy away tonight, so he's just playing with you until he get her back."

            "The girl with dark hair?"

            "He thinks he loves her.  How can you love without a soul?"  She plucked at a bit of the girl's hair.  It was matted and damp.  "Why did he pick you?"

            "I don't know."

            Darla tossed her a pair of men's trousers and a shirt.  "Get dressed.  If we're up here too long he might think I'm trying to move in on you and honey," she looked over the girl disparagingly, "I'd rather eat dog."

            Darla pushed her down the stairs.  The big, stunning room was empty now but for her vampire - hers? - lounging in his sunken den, feet up, brow furrowed as he read from a book.

            "All yours," Darla said.  "I didn't touch her.  I didn't want to catch anything."

            "I don't think she's contagious."

            "She's revolting."

            Spike stood up and held his hand out to his girl.  She stepped nervously into the den.  "You read this?" He handed her the book.

            "Voltaire," she said.  "Yes, but only in English."

            "You read French?"

            "Badly."

            "Give it a try."

            "Oh please," Darla rolled her eyes.  "Now you're educating her?"  She stared in sudden horror.  "William, you're not going to _turn_ her?"

            He looked sullen.  "Maybe I will."

            "But she's - she's-"

            "What?"

            "You are disgusting," Darla said, and vanished down a sunken staircase, slamming a door at the bottom.

            Spike turned back to her.  "She's a bitter old hag," he said, "because Angelus wants to play with Dru tonight."

            "Is Dru your lady?"

            "Sometimes."  He cocked his head.  "Jealous?"

            "She's very beautiful-"

            He lifted her chin.  "She claimed me as hers," he said.  "I can't claim her at all."

            "But you've claimed me."

            He smiled, a slow, sure smile.  "I have."

            His lips brushed hers, his cold lips, and his hand ran down her back, pressing her body to his.  He slipped his cool tongue into her mouth and kissed her with surprising gentleness, releasing her and watching her suck in a deep breath.

            "Elizabeth," she said.  "My name is Elizabeth."

            "William," he said, and made a small bow.  She gave a curtsey, smiling a little.

            "They call me Buffy," she added shyly.

            "They call me Spike."

            "Why?"

            He shrugged.  "You ever stuck a railroad spike through someone?"

            She gave him a look of horror.

            "No, don't suppose you have.  It's fun, though."

            She looked afraid again.  He sighed.  "Voltaire," he said, and she turned her attention to the book she still held.

            "_On doit des égards aux vivants; on ne doit aux morts que le verité_," she read.

            "Meaning?"

            She frowned.  "We must... respect... the living... we must... we do not-"

            "We owe nothing but the truth to the dead."

            "Oh."  She looked up at him.  "But you do not respect me."

            "What makes you think that?"

            "You - you..."

            "Just because I intend to rape and murder you, doesn't mean I don't respect you."

            She swallowed hard.

            "It will only hurt - well, a lot," he said, caressing her cheek.  "Now Voltaire says you owe me the truth.  Are you frightened?"

            She lifted her chin.  "I am not frightened of death."

            "Why not?"

            "It is only another stage of living."

            "It is for me.  Aren't you frightened of pain?"

            She closed her eyes.  "You murdered my family."

            "Some of them."

            "Do you feel pain?"

            "All the time.  The pain of eternal torment.  No, I'm joking.  If someone hits me, I feel pain, but not a lot of it.  The pain I feel is psychological."

            She looked sceptical.  "Your mind hurts?"

            He looked towards the door Darla had disappeared past.  "When someone takes what is mine," he said.

            "Do you love her?"

            "Drusilla?  Yes."

            "She said that someone without a soul cannot love."

            "What, Darla?  She never had a soul when she was alive."

            "And you?  Did you read Voltaire when you were alive?"

            "Voltaire, Paine, More-"

            "Utopia?"

            "Got a copy somewhere..."

            He turned away to look, and Elizabeth watched him.  Strange, she should be more afraid.  But despite his cruel words, she felt no danger from him.  He would not truly hurt her.

            "She trusts you," came Darla's voice, and Elizabeth jumped, for she'd not heard the other vampire come back in.

            "I'm a trustworthy soul," Spike said, vaulting out of the den and going to the tall shelves on the candle-lit walls.

            "No, you're not, Spike, that's the point.  The girl is stupid."

            Elizabeth looked up.  If she wasn't afraid of William, why should she be afraid of Darla?

            "Why do you hate me?"

            Darla looked her over boredly.  "Because you're so ugly."

            Elizabeth closed her eyes.  Had she not heard that from her brothers every day?  From her father, three times a day?  Her sister was the only person who ever told Elizabeth she was pretty, but Dawn would try to make anyone feel better.

            Dawn.  Elizabeth had seen the dark vampire - Angelus? - slit her throat and drink from it.  That was when she'd run and hid, and he hadn't seemed to care.

            "I want to be beautiful," she said, half to herself, then she looked up at Darla.  "Can you make me beautiful?"

            Darla sighed, but then she glanced at Spike, concentrating on his damn books, and she smiled.

            "Come with me."

            She led Elizabeth back up to the vestry - a dressing room, perhaps it was now - and opened a chest.

            "Take those off," she pointed to the trousers and shirt, and Elizabeth complied.  She hesitated when she got to her underpants, but Darla nodded.  "Those too."

            Naked, she shivered while Darla looked through the clothes, throwing exotic things around.  She chucked a pair of very tiny white knickers at Elizabeth, who stared for quite a while before she put them on.  Then she was handed a long white dress with a high waist.  She pulled it on, but it fit too loosely across the chest.

            "Dru's," Darla said.  "No, maybe not.  Take it off."

            Elizabeth did, and next was handed a red and black affair that looked even worse on her.

            Darla's final offering was made of pale pink silk, more like lingerie than real clothes - and not the sort of lingerie that Elizabeth had ever seen on a woman outside the Paris nightclub she'd sneaked to with Dawn that time...

            There were lacy cups over her breasts and narrow straps to hold it up.  The fabric was sheer over her stomach, narrowing to a point just above the lacy knickers, where there was a short underskirt of flared white silk, the hem uneven, the fabric flowing.  Over it the pink silk flared in an approximation of a long open skirt that trailed behind her.

            "Not bad," Darla said grudgingly, and started to attack Elizabeth's hair with a brush.  She was brutal - but then what did one expect from a vampire?  Coiling the blonde locks on top of Elizabeth's head, she left a few strands to curl about her neck.

            "He likes a bare neck, does William," she was told.

            Little satin slippers graced her feet, which were still tender from the cold.  Darla made her stand before a mirror.

            "Beautiful enough for you?"

            Elizabeth stared.  She'd always believed she was ugly, having been told so much, but now she saw a vision of - of beauty, of sexuality.  The lace cups of the bodice pushed her breasts into an enticing cleavage.  The scoops and falls of the white underskirt revealed her calves and ankles.  Her shoulders and arms were bare.

            "Will he like it?"

            Darla shrugged.  "Beats me.  I still think you're an ugly cow, but it's definitely an improvement."

            But Elizabeth felt beautiful, and as she left the room she lifted her head and imagined she was entering a ball.  The sheer fabric floated around her as she descended the steps, and as Angelus and Drusilla came back in, they stopped and stared at her.

            "Nice work, Spike," Angelus said admiringly, and Elizabeth swelled with pride.  It was the first time anyone apart from Dawn had ever paid her any kind of compliment.

            Spike looked up from his den.  His face changed.  He stood up.

            He put Utopia down.

            "_Elizabeth_?"

            "She has a name," Drusilla cooed.

            Elizabeth came to a halt in front of her vampire.  She hoped he couldn't see her legs trembling.

            "Do you like it?" she asked nervously, looking up into those storm blue eyes of his.  His cheekbones were sharp, his mouth hard, and his eyes were angry.

            "No," he said through clenched teeth.  "Take it off."

            Elizabeth kept her eyes on his, her heart beating fast, and slid down one of the straps.

            Spike shoved it back up.  "I did not mean like that," he snapped.  "Darla, you turned her into a whore!"

            She shrugged, fanning herself languorously, little tendrils of blonde hair fluttering around her face.  "Isn't that what you wanted?"

            "No."  Spike grabbed Elizabeth's hand and dragged her across the room.  Drusilla giggled and gave her a finger wave.

            "Somebody's gonna get some," Angelus called in a sing-song voice.

            Spike slammed the door shut, locked it, tugged her through another door, and locked that too.  They were in a deep underground room, lit by flickering torches, and what they illuminated was a huge bed hung with ancient dusty drapings.  And chains.

            Spike threw her down on it, and Elizabeth braced herself.  But instead of attacking her, he stepped back and ran his hands through his hair, pacing around furiously.  He didn't say anything, didn't even look at her, and after a few minutes of frantic heartbeating, Elizabeth made herself sit up.

            "Are you very angry?" she asked quietly.

            He whirled around and glared at her.  "Damn right I am."

            "I - I only wanted-"

            "Yes?  What did you want?"

            "To be beautiful," she hung her head.  "I'm sorry."

            He stood still, and just looked at her.

            "I'm too ugly for you," she whispered.

            In an instant, Spike was on his knees in front of her.  "Too ugly?  Elizabeth, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."  He took the clasp from her hair and felt it as it cascaded over her shoulders.  "Your eyes, your hair, your skin..."

            "You think I'm beautiful?"

            "Exquisite."  He pulled her gently to her feet and slid the straps of the pink gown over her shoulders, baring her breasts, then her stomach, then pushing it all to the ground so she stood there in just the tiny white panties.  "Darla wanted to humiliate you," she said.  "Make you look like a whore."  He fingered the lace at her hip.  "She's jealous too."

            "Of Drusilla?"

            "To begin with," he said, and brushed her lips with his finger.  "Now it's you who'd better watch your back."

            "Maybe she can help you kill me."

            Spike stepped back, the softness gone from his face.  "What is this?  Do you want to die?"

            She shrugged.  "I don't think I have much choice."

            "There is always a choice," he said forcefully.  "I could have killed you back there in your house.  But I chose not to."

            "Why?"

            He looked at her, and for the life of him couldn't think why.  Because he'd wanted to get out.  Because she was too fragile, too beautiful a thing to waste like that.  He'd seen the other girl upstairs, broken and bleeding, and something inside him had cried out, That's not _fair_.

            "Aren't you afraid of me?" he asked.

            She looked like she was seriously considering it, standing there in just an indecently tiny pair of knickers, only her hair to cover herself.

            "No," she said.  "Well, a little.  You could just be playing with me.  To make it even worse when you do-"

            "When I do what?"

            "What you said you were going to do."

            Spike sighed.  "Elizabeth-" he said, and stepped towards her, held her lovely body in his arms and kissed her.  She was so warm and soft.  She didn't demand or mock like Dru did.  She didn't scream and cower like the other human girls he'd taken.  She simply gave as he took.

            He moved his head down, breathed in her scent, listened to the blood pumping in her veins, and whole the demon in him wanted to puncture that soft, smooth pink skin, the man in him wanted to kiss it.

            He kissed her throat, and Elizabeth let out a little gasp.  He smiled, brushed her long hair away from her beasts, and ran his hands over them gently.  So soft, like pillows.  He took one pink nipple in his mouth and sucked.

            "Oh," she said softly, and Spike lifted his head.  Her lips were parted, her head was back, her cheeks were flushed.  He'd never seen anything desirable in all his life - or unlife.

            Gently, carefully, he picked her up and laid her down on the bed, took her arms from around his neck and stepped back.  His shirt was still slightly bloody and he pulled it off, tossing it in the corner.  He moved to take off his trousers, then he looked at Elizabeth lying there looking in slight wonder at his bare chest and stomach, and stopped.

            "Buffy," he said, and she looked up at the use of her childhood name.  "Have you ever been with a man before?"

            She blushed and shook her head.

            Spike smiled.  Suddenly he didn't want to hurt her - he wanted to try _not_ to hurt her.  What was she doing to him?  Was she a witch to enchant him like this?

            He stretched out beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissed her some more.  She seemed to be getting the hang of it now, not so nervous as she'd been.  He got the feeling this was the only way she was afraid - that she wasn't doing it right.  Not frightened of what he might do to her.  Only that she might not do it right in return.

            He rolled back and looked at her, sweet curves and creamy skin, and he could feel her blood pumping faster, hear her heat, see her desire.  She touched his shoulder, and when he didn't complain, ran her fingers down his arm, over his stomach, back up to his chest.

            "You're beautiful too," she said.

            "Are we both lying here, pet?"

            She smiled.  "I thought I owed the dead only truth."

            "So you do.  And I," he said, "am meant to respect you," his fingers skimmed her belly, "but that might be a little hard."

            "Am I not worthy of respect?"

            "Not worthy?"  He shook his head in disbelief.  "Elizabeth, I have never wanted anything as much as I want you.  Desire is the only thing that outweighs respect."

            She looked at a loss, so he decided to show her what he meant.  Pushing her onto her back, he slid the little white knickers down over her hips, her thighs, past her pretty feet, and tossed them on the ground.  When he came back she was trembling slightly.

            "Cold?"

            Nervous, Elizabeth thought, but she nodded.

            "I'll have to warm you up."

            "But you're so cold..."

            He smiled and traced his hand over her breast, taking the hard nipple and rolling it between finger and thumb.  Elizabeth swallowed.  Well, maybe she was getting a little hotter.

            Spike took her other nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue around it in several circles before flicking it with his teeth.  She sucked in her breath and felt her hand go to the back of his head to hold him there.

            Spike smiled against her warm flesh, and slid his other hand down her stomach, stroking her thighs, feeling her quiver against him.  He slipped his fingers between her legs, cupping the dark gold curls there.  There was a hint of dampness on them.  Excellent.

            Moving his mouth back up to hers, he used his fingers to part her folds.  Slippery and hot.  Delicious.  Her whole body tensed as he probed her with long, clever fingers, felt the sweet spot at the top, the nub of nerve endings, and stroked it.

            "Oh God," she jerked against him.

            "Like that, sweetheart?"

            She nodded, glassy eyed.

            "Just relax."

            And relax she did, as he went on stroking and kissing her, feeling how she liked to be touched, her moans and gasps soaking into him. She was getting pretty wet, pretty slippery, and her arms were clutching at him, feeling the muscles in his back.  She'd called him beautiful.  Well, just for that she could get a special present.

            Reluctantly, he left her mouth - she was just starting to take the initiative - and kissed down her shoulder, her stomach, her hip.  He licked the inside of her thigh and felt her start to tremble again.  She smelled delicious - hot and sweet and ready for him, and he ran his tongue over her folds, tasting her.

            Elizabeth pulled in a ragged breath, her hand coming down to tangle in his hair.  Her body was shaking, her legs trembling uncontrollably, her nipples hard and aching.  She was hot all over - hadn't he said he'd warm her up?  Sweet lord, what was he doing?

            Spike felt for her clitoris with his tongue and circled it lazily.  Elizabeth let out a low moan that vibrated right through him and he dropped his tongue to stab inside of her.

            "Oh," she cried.  "Oh, that's - you're-"

            "Tell me," he said, cold air against her most sensitive flesh, and moved back up to lick her clitoris again.

            "That feels-"

            "Like it?"

            "God, _yes_!"

            He laughed gently and brought down his hand to caress her thigh, lift it high and drape her leg around his neck.  He slid his hand down under it and ran a finger all the way up her entrance to where his lips touched her slick, red flesh.

            Then he slid the finger inside her, and Elizabeth tightened her leg around his neck, her heel digging into his back.  She was still wearing the little pink slippers and somehow the thought that they were all she was wearing was incredibly erotic.

            There's a vampire licking between my legs and I think slippers are erotic?  Elizabeth, no!

            With his free hand, he reached out and took hers.  Her fingers tightened around his palm and somehow that was the most intimate thing between them.

            His finger stabbed in and out of her in a smooth rhythm and she found herself rocking her hips against his mouth and hand.  She let out an incoherent cry when he slid another finger in too.  He was stretching her, but it didn't hurt.  It felt good.  Those fingers were touching something inside her that felt _incredibly_ good.

            Something started burning inside her, her body was spasming.  It was almost pain, but not quite.  "Stop," Elizabeth cried, but all Spike did was slide another finger up inside her.  "Oh, for the love of God, stop!"

            He lifted his head long enough to tell her, "Not likely," then went back to his licking and stroking and sucking and stabbing, wet sounds and hot feelings, and Elizabeth felt her body jerk out of control.  "Oh God, oh God, oh-!"

            He felt her tighten - tighten even more - and then a flood of wetness soaked his hand, his mouth.  Mmm.  It was the first virgin orgasm he'd ever tasted, and it was sweet.  Her hand was crushing his, she was surprisingly strong.  Such passion from someone so dainty.

            He gave her a few more licks until her body stopped thrashing and jerking, then he slid his fingers out and kissed the inside of her thigh.

            He looked up.  She was lying there with her nipples hard, her cheeks flushed, her lips bitten and swollen and her hair tangled.

            "Oh God," Spike muttered, and rolled away to remove his trousers.  Naked, he stood over her, and she opened her eyes to look at him.  Her eyes travelled downwards.

            "Oh," she said in slight apprehension.  She knew what it was, of course, and she knew what he was going to do with it.  Or at least she thought she knew - what she'd been told about sex was not what she'd experienced so far.   Girls had whispered about pain and duty.  They'd said nothing of heat and spasms and glorious hot pleasure.

            "My turn," he said with relish, and this time Elizabeth knew it was going to hurt.

            She wasn't wrong.  He'd stretched her a little with his fingers, but not nearly enough for the huge thing nudging against her.  She was so nervous she barely registered the little waves of pleasure as he rubbed it against her sensitive flesh.

            "Elizabeth," he said, "look at me."

            She did, and now he saw fear in her eyes.  Fear and trust.  God, what was she doing to him?

            "I'll try and be gentle," he said, "but it will hurt."

            She nodded.  "I know."

            "I don't mean like that - I don't want..."  He sighed. "I'll try and make it better," he promised, wondering who this demon was and what he was talking about.  He moved her legs wide apart, slipped a pillow under her bottom to raise her up, and kissed her mouth as he drove into her, a bit at a time.

            Her teeth clamped down on his lip.  Hmm, that was nice.

            "Okay?" he said, half in.

            She nodded tensely.  He knew it hurt.  He could feel her pain.

            He started to pull out.

            "No, don't-" she said.  "It's not that bad," she explained bravely.

            Spike looked down at her for a second, then he re-angled his body above her, changing the way he entered her.  The base of his shaft rubbed against her clitoris, and he didn't enter her all the way as he started thrusting slowly.

            Elizabeth closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him.  He lifted her legs around his waist and she moaned a little and started to move with him.

            "See?" he said.  "It's good, huh?  Feels good."

            She gave another tense nod.

            "Still hurts?"

            "A little.  Not much."

            Why did it matter to him so much?  What was he doing to her?  He started to move a bit more, trying harder to thrust against her sensitive flesh.  Elizabeth moved harder against him, found his rhythm, breathed in time.  Her breasts heaved, her nipples grazing his chest.  She was exquisite.

            Forgetting to be gentle, he started thrusting harder, wanting to feel all of her around him.  God, she was so tight.  Slipperier than oil, hot like fire, and so goddamn tight.  She moved with him.  He pushed deeper.

            And he came.

            He fell heavily against her, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his hair.

            "What was that for?"

            She looked surprised.  "I - I don't know.  I'm sorry-"

            "No."  He shook his head.  "No, not sorry.  Don't ever be sorry."

            "I-"

            "You've shown me tenderness," he said, and realised what it was he felt for her.  The same thing.  Respect for the living, yes, and tenderness.

            He realised he had not thought of Drusilla at all.

            There was no tenderness there.  There was empty worship - she gave him nothing for all he gave her.  But little Elizabeth, young and soft and trusting, she gave even as he took.

            He kissed her mouth and she responded eagerly, glad to be back on familiar territory.  When he slid out of her she winced a little, and Spike realised she was bleeding.

            Well, there was only one thing to do with blood.

            He kissed his way down her body and lapped up the blood.  And when it was all gone he lapped some more.  Elizabeth writhed against him, gasping and moaning, and Spike knew what he had to do.

            He came back up to her mouth, and she didn't seem embarrassed about tasting herself on him.  He stroked between her legs and took her hand in his, guided it to where he wanted it.  He wrapped her fingers around him and moved them for her, stroking, squeezing gently.

            "Is this what you like?" she asked.

            "Very much so."

            "What else?"  She kissed his neck.  "Do you like what I like?"

            "I think I might."

            He rolled onto his back, still teasing her with his fingers while she pleasured him with hers.  She kissed his chest and shyly licked his nipple.  He moaned happily.  "You can do that until you get bored," he told her.

            "I never will."

            "Even if I think of something better for us to do?"

            She gave him an enquiring look.

            He pulled her on top of him, his hard shaft nudging her bottom, and sat her up.  "You're so beautiful," he said.

            "I can't be."

            "Why not?"

            "I don't believe I am."

            "Well, I do, I'm in sodding charge here, so if I say you are, then you are."

            She giggled.

            "That was funny?"

            "A little."

            "You're really not afraid of me, are you?"

            She shook her head.  "You might hurt me, but I don't think you want to."

            "Have you always been this smart?"

            "No."

            "You read Voltaire."

            "All right, maybe yes."

            "You're quite amazing, you know?"

            She blushed.

            "Can I keep you?" Spike asked, and her smile faded.

            "Keep me?"

            "I don't want to let you go."

            "You're in charge."

            "Am I?" he wondered as he ran his hands up her back and pulled her down to kiss her mouth, her breasts.  He lifted her hips and she moved her legs wide apart.  She knew what he wanted.  Even though it'd hurt, she was going to give it to him.

            She lowered herself onto him, gently, at her own pace, and felt him fill her completely.  Spike lay back and watched her as she closed her eyes and started moving.

            "Still hurt?"

            She shook her head.  "Barely."

            Damn, she felt good.  Her hair fell down her back as she tilted her head and he gazed, entranced, at her neck, at the life flowing through it.

            "William," she breathed, and he ran his hands up her thighs, over her hips, her breasts, and cupped her face.  She leaned down over him.  "You can keep me."

            He looked into her eyes and understood what she was offering.  He claimed her lips with hers, tasting her, possessing her, all of her, and rolled her onto her back.

            Spike's face changed, sharpened, he let the demon out for a look and watched Elizabeth's face.

            "You're so beautiful," she whispered, and he sank his teeth into her neck, drinking the sweetest thing she had to offer.

            "They've been in there for hours," Darla complained.  She picked up the book she was lying on - some French crap.  "Do you think she's dead yet?"

            "Shame if she is," Angelus said, his head on her bare breast, tongue lazily flicking over her nipple.  "I wouldn't mind a piece of her."

            "Aren't we enough for you?"

            He looked up at Drusilla who was riding him with deep abandon, and smiled.

            "You'll do."

            The door at the bottom of the crypt opened and Angelus and Darla's heads snapped over.  Drusilla didn't seem to notice.

            "Well well," Spike asked, coming out in only his trousers, looking them over with faint disgust.  "What have we here?  Dru, love, you're making an exhibition of yourself."

            At the sound of his voice she stopped what she was doing, clambered off a protesting Angelus, and scampered over.

            "Spike!  Mummy missed you."

            "Did she now?  Well, baby didn't miss you."  He shoved her to the floor where she sprawled, shocked and confused.  He'd never said no before.

            "What the hell is going on?" Darla said, pushing Angelus off her and pulling her silk robe around her.

            "Daddy hurt me," Drusilla moaned.

            "Yeah?" Spike said, and held out an arm.  Elizabeth stepped out of the doorway, eyes calm and assured, wearing little more than a bed sheet, and curled herself around him.  There was a raw red mark on her neck, and as Angelus looked, he realised there was one on Spike's, too.

            "What the-?"

            "Bite me," Spike said, and Elizabeth's face vamped out.

            "Love to."

Author's Note: I've had a surprisingly large amount of feedback about this little ficlet and several people have asked if there's going to be any more.  So I'm gonna have to be honest here and tell you, I'm sorry:  I hadn't planned to make this any longer than it is.  However, when I'm done manipulating Spuffy through the other fics I have running (three at the last count, bad me!), I might come back and make a sequel.  Vamp Buffy is a rather happy little idea, isn't it?


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